Tangles
by Decidedly Odd
Summary: Hook/Emma drabbles & prompt fills. Currently - 5 times someone threatened Hook and the 1 time something else happened (part 6).
1. The Devil You Know

**01 - The Devil You Know**

* * *

Emma was an expert on men like Killian Jones, with their dark good looks, roguish charm, and...legal problems. She had spent most of her adolescence dating them, and most of her adulthood tracking the scumbags down and dragging their sorry asses back to jail. (God, there were times when she _really_ loved her job.) She was smart enough—experienced enough—to know that Hook couldn't be trusted. But something in her was drawn to him, all the same. An orphan can always recognize another orphan, and staring back at her from behind Hook's sea green eyes was an empty ache as familiar as her own reflection in the mirror.

* * *

Hook was an expert when it came to puzzles, and women were his favorite kind. Most men considered them strange, wayward creatures, as contrary as cats, but that was what he liked about them; they were predictable in their unpredictable-ness. All it took was the right approach, and you could have them eating out of your hands.

Given time and opportunity, he could have gained the queen's trust, the warrior's respect, and the princess's admiration. Events would have unfolded gradually, beautifully, like all the best stories, and he would have enjoyed every minute of that slow seduction.

Except that they didn't. Emma Swan had looked him dead in the eye and known him for a liar. He still didn't know how she had done that. But he was looking forward to finding out.


	2. In Good Company

AN: This piece was inspired by a prompt from thescribediaries over on tumblr. She requested a fic where everyone but Hook and Emma made it back to Storybrooke. There was an unspoken demand for pr0n, but my brain failed me on that count.

* * *

**In Good Company**

* * *

The portal closed with an oddly familiar pop and hiss, and Emma found herself suddenly craving a can of coke. Soda was just one of the many things she missed about the real world, along with hot showers and cell phones and Henry's high, eager voice.

Henry.

_Her son._

She would have sobbed if she had the breath for it, but those deadly vines (a favorite of evil sorceresses everywhere, it seemed) were still intent on grinding her bones into a lumpy paste, even though Cora had already passed through the gateway and slammed it shut behind her.

"Gods fuck all!" Hook spat out a string of vehement curses as he struggled to stand. There was a bloody lump the size of a goose egg protruding from the back of his skull and his legs felt like jelly, but when he looked up and met Emma's wide, frantic eyes across the wreckage of the room, he shot to his feet, concussion forgotten. His sword was buried somewhere in the debris, but the hook he wore was pointed and sharp. The cold metal sliced easily through the vines, and they fell to dust once the pirate pulled them away from her body.

That first gulp of air burned painfully down her throat and gathered in lungs that wanted to do anything except inflate. The strain of breathing was almost too much to endure.

Physically exhausted and mentally drained, Emma collapsed against the wall, sliding down the polished stone until her butt hit the ground. After a moment, Hook sat next to her, close enough that she could tip her head to the side and rest it against his shoulder, were she so inclined.

Instead, Emma closed her eyes and tried to shut out the pain and the memory of the past fifteen minutes and the sight of Hook leaning forward to look at her, concern and worry written all over his features.

"Sorry, lass," he said. It was the first time Emma had ever seen him subdued and serious, and she found herself missing his flirtatious drawl.

She let out a long, ragged sigh. "For what?"

In the silence that followed, she could feel Hook studying her, his gaze poking and prying, searching for all the places where she'd been hurt. Emma kept her eyes closed, afraid of what he might see there.

"For ruining your shirt," he replied, with such stilted lightness that Emma didn't need superpowers to know it was a lie. "Terribly inconvenient," he added, his voice returning to more natural cadences. "Seeing as how it's your only one. Even in the heat of the moment, I'm a very careful man."

"Ugh." Feigning disgust, Emma inched to the left, even though moving meant that their shoulders brushed and her fingers skimmed his thigh as she settled a hand into the empty space between them. Her other hand slipped through the new rip in her t-shirt. She pressed down, trying to gauge how badly her ribs had been damaged. The prodding was enough to make her gasp and bite her lip, but the bones were solid and whole beneath the skin.

Hook flinched, muscles tensing at the sound she made. "Did I cut you?" he asked, appalled by the possibility.

"No." Emma said, shaking her head for emphasis. The gesture made the room spin, and she quickly stopped. "No, I'm fine. Just sore, that's all. How about you? You're the one Cora flung straight into a stone column at full-speed."

"Oh, I've had worse," he replied, so flippantly that she laughed. It hurt, but the ache was surprisingly bearable.


	3. The First Time

**5 TIMES SOMEONE THREATENED HOOK (AND THE 1 TIME SOMETHING ELSE HAPPENED)**

* * *

**1 - The Prince & the Pirate**

* * *

As he waited in the dark for Emma's father to acknowledge his presence, Hook found himself longing for the sound of billowing sails and creaking wood and the tide surging against the sleek curves of the _Jolly Roger_. He missed the sea.

Around him, the miners worked steadily, movements as smooth as a pendulum's swing. Up went the arm and down came the pickaxe, again and again in a tireless rhythm. It was uncomfortably warm underground, the air stale and laden with dust. Cramped, dimly lit, packed with ripe, sweating men—it wasn't all that different from the hold of a ship actually, except for the noise, which was giving him a headache.

Long hours becalmed on a motionless sea, praying for a fair wind, had taught Hook to endure monotony, but he was not by nature a patient man. Minutes passed. He folded his arms, unfolded them, folded them again, and was about to begin the whole process once more before he realized that he was fidgeting, and stopped himself. "You said you wanted to see me, your highness?"

"Yes." Up went the prince's well-muscled arm, gleaming with sweat in the ghostly silver lamplight. "I did." Down came the axe, raising a cloud of dust and scattering shards of grey stone.

Hook sighed. It was terribly unfair that his lover's parents, both of them technically approaching sixty, were still young, fit, and skilled in the use of sharp weapons. Yet another reason to damn that bloody curse and its reptilian maker.

"Concerning Emma, I presume?"

Something about the captain's cavalier tone irritated the prince, or maybe it was just the sound of his daughter's name coming from the mouth of a wanted criminal. James turned, pickaxe gripped tightly in one hand. "I don't like you."

"But I'm so likeable," Hook drawled. "If you just took the time to get to know me—"

"I'm sure I'd like you even less." He took one step closer, then another. Hook raised an eyebrow, unimpressed by his attempts at intimidation. This was _Prince James_, for god's sake, so aptly nicknamed Charming, supposedly the most pure-of-heart hero in all the kingdoms. He wasn't the type to lure an enemy underground, stab him through the eye with a pickaxe, and hide the body beneath a pile of rocks in an abandoned tunnel.

"You don't deserve a woman like Emma," James said. Not threatening, but flat and factual.

Hook smiled, politely, pleasantly. "I know," he said, surprising the other man with his easy agreement. The next words out of his mouth were pure steel. "That makes me all the more determined to keep her."


	4. The Second Time

**5 TIMES SOMEONE THREATENED HOOK (AND 1 TIME SOMETHING ELSE HAPPENED)**

* * *

**2 – The Boy Who Didn't Know Fear**

* * *

Hook ducked beneath a brightly striped awning and peered into the shop window, pretending to examine the display. Although he did take a moment to admire his image, the picturesque street scene reflected in the glass was the actual focus of his scrutiny. As he watched, a flood of boys and girls in navy blue uniforms rushed past, noisy and cheerful like a babbling brook. But when the crowd ebbed, one lone child remained, feet planted firmly on the pavement, small hands clenched around the straps of his backpack.

"Hey, you! Captain Hook!"

At first glance, the boy didn't look much like his mother. Wholesome and healthy, he was a few years too old to be called cute. At best he could be described as ordinary, with mousy brown hair and a scattering of freckles across a non-descript nose. But the angle of his chin, the belligerence shining in his hazel eyes—there was no question in Hook's mind whose son he was. That fragile, defiant stance was all Emma.

"Captain Hook," Henry—that was his name, wasn't it?—repeated, a little bit of awe creeping into his voice.

Hook turned slowly, amusement already tugging at the corners of his mouth. "I heard you the first time," he said. "How can I help you, lad?"

"My name's Henry. I'm Emma's son." Saying those words bolstered the boy's confidence; he was proud of his parentage. "You're dating my mom."

Hook arched a questioning brow. He didn't recognize the term "dating", but Henry's accusing tone made its meaning all too clear.

Misunderstanding his silence, the boy tried to clarify. "You know, you're together?" He blushed, but continued, "Going out? Umm…in a relationship?"

"I get the idea," Hook said, smirking a little. The word's definition was tamer than he had originally suspected.

"Anyway, that's not what I have to say to you." Henry took a deep, dramatic breathe. "If you hurt Emma, or break her heart, I'll _destroy_ you."

The pirate blinked. "Beg your pardon?"

"I'd get away with it, too," Henry said, his voice firm, his chin stubbornly lifted. "No one would ever suspect me. I have a plan all ready to go. I call it Operation Asp."

"Assassination via snakebite?" Hook asked in a conversational tone.

"No," Henry said quietly. "But I'm pretty sure you know who my other mom is."

_That_ caught his attention. He had heard of the uneasy détente between Emma and Regina, and he knew that Henry was at the heart of it. Emma would never allow her son to wield dark magic, but could the same be said of the former queen? If she was anything like her mother…well, if there was one thing that Hook could say with certainty, it was that Cora would take great pleasure in corrupting her young grandson. "I'd advise you to tread carefully," he said. "Magic—"

"—always comes with a price. I _know_," Henry said. "I'd pay it. Emma deserves a happy ending."

"On that we are agreed," Hook said.


	5. The Third Time

**5 TIMES SOMEONE THREATENED HOOK (AND 1 TIME SOMETHING ELSE HAPPENED)**

* * *

**3 – A Girl worth Fighting for**

* * *

"Mulan!" Hook exclaimed, honestly surprised to see her. He winked. "Modern attire…suits you." Wearing only jeans and a t-shirt, she looked smaller, younger, more approachable. She still moved with a swordfighter's grace, but without the plated armor and magical sword it was easy to forget her deadly skills. Watching her walk down the street, moving deftly through the crowd, one was aware only of her beauty. "What work has Prince Charming assigned to keep you busy?"

"I've been teaching Emma to use a sword," she answered, not even acknowledging his empty pleasantries. "She's getting quite good."

So that was where Emma went every morning. Interesting that she hadn't bothered to share that information with him. "I'm glad to hear it." Hook said neutrally.

"Indeed. Her father insisted on the lessons; he said that if you or any other foe ever came after her with a blade, she needed to know how to defend herself."

"Really."

"She agreed to receive instruction, though she did say that it was unnecessary." Mulan paused thoughtfully. "She said that if you ever betrayed her, she would "shoot your balls off.""

Hook laughed, shocked and amused and unexpectedly pleased. "That does sound like something Emma would say. And do."

The warrior studied him with dark, inscrutable eyes. "I asked for a demonstration of the weapon," she said. "Emma is a skilled marksman."


	6. The Fourth Time

**5 TIMES SOMEONE THREATENED HOOK (AND 1 TIME SOMETHING ELSE HAPPENED)**

* * *

**4 – Captain Hook and Pinocchio Walk Into a Bar...**

* * *

The image printed on the bottle's label was this: a crimson-clad, curly-haired sailor sporting a massive eye patch, a wooden leg, and, half-hidden by long sleeves and gathered lace, a hook in place of his hand. A rainbow feathered bird fluttered perilously close to his head, threatening to snatch off the ridiculous hat that added at least another foot to his height. The aforementioned accessory was emblazoned with a very familiar symbol, one that declared to seafarers everywhere which side of the law he sailed on.

"That's supposed to be a fearsome pirate," Hook said. He was unimpressed. "Personally, I wouldn't find a man missing two limbs and an eye very frightening, but I suppose not everyone can adhere to my standard of bravery." In the face of such a garish caricature, Hook hardly knew whether to be amused or baffled, which was more or less how he felt about this entire outing. He had never heard of Pinocchio—or August, as he preferred to be called, and no wonder with a name like that—before today. Emma had raised her eyebrows when he mentioned the invitation, but she had pronounced August "kinda weird, but mostly harmless," and threatened Hook with a night in a jail cell if he got drunk and did something stupid in public.

The warning was unnecessary, at least in Hook's case. He was still nursing his first glass; it was more than halfway full. August had assured him that this was the cheapest booze money could possibly buy, and it was rather vile—sickly sweet and oddly spicy, and it trickled down your throat more like the acidic scouring of undiluted vinegar than a trail of liquid fire. It was fake and chemical and most definitely a product of this modern, mechanized world. He could only imagine what it would taste like coming back up.

Hook swirled the liquor in his tumbler and took a small sip, just enough to wet his lips and singe his tongue. He had tasted worst, and the memory of that foul rotgut had him waxing nostalgic. He'd kill for a pint of the really crap ale that you got in dockside taverns, a hazardous-to-your-health, homemade mixture that the barkeep had brewed in the dark recesses of the cellar. This stuff didn't even come close.

"If you don't mind," August said, waving his glass towards the pirate across the table. "My last serving of the night."

Hook refilled it for the second time—enough liquor to create a pleasant buzz, but not enough to provoke unsightly emotional outpourings or inspire impromptu weddings. What a pity. "So," he said, deciding finally to bring up the topic that they had been dancing around all evening. "Does that mean you've drunk enough to start asking invasive questions about my relationship with Emma yet?"

"Excuse me?"

Hook arched a sardonic brow, his mouth twisting into a bored sneer. "Of course you want to talk about Emma," he said. "The people of Storybrooke generally belong to one of two groups: those who want to kill me, and those who want to lecture me about Emma, although there may be some overlap; her father certainly could be placed in both categories."

August had a sweet, boyish laugh, rather unexpected coming from someone who wore a leather jacket and drove a motorcycle, carefully cultivated his five o'clock shadow, and spoke mostly in vague, cryptic utterances. Maybe he was drunker than Hook realized. "Can't argue with you there," August said, smiling crookedly. "But I don't think it's personal. The man's 'Prince Charming' after all, a living cliché. He can't help being the stereotypical overprotective father."

"I hadn't thought of it that way," Hook replied, a low laugh escaping from his throat. He raised his glass, tipping it towards August in a small salute before taking another nauseating sip. "So to which camp do you pledge allegiance?"

"I like to place myself in a separate camp, one that simply desires what's best for Emma," August said. "It's not my job to judge your relationship. At least not anymore."

"But it was, once upon a time?" Hook leaned back in his seat for the first time that night, shoulders relaxing against the cherry red vinyl. The booze was terrible, the lighting was all wrong, and there was a distinct lack of buxom tavern wenches, but there was nothing new about that posture and that expectant air—he knew the look of a man waiting to tell his story.

"I suppose that depends on your interpretation of events," August said. "My father, who carved the wardrobe, sent me through to spare me, but the Blue Fairy only let him because she thought I had learned my lesson. She thought I could be Emma's brother, be a replacement for the real family she had to lose in order to save us all."

"I tried. For a little while." He trailed off into silence, like a man lost in reminiscence, but Hook saw how his jaw clenched, the way the muscles in his throat shifted as he swallowed: these were not pleasant memories. "Until I got a better offer," he admitted. "In my defense, I was just a kid from an enchanted kingdom where fairies could make miracles happen with the flick of a wand. Everyone got their happily ever after, eventually. And Emma had a destiny. I thought Fate itself would look out for her, place her feet on the path that would take her to where she needed to be. I didn't think she needed me, and I didn't know how bad things could get in this world.

"Fifteen years later I had an attack of conscience and decided to check up on her. But she had already disappeared from the system by then. It took two years of searching to find her, and by the time I had tracked her down, I was a bit desperate."

Even the memory of it made him angry, or at least that was how Hook chose to interpret certain subtle signs: his hands suddenly closing tight around his empty glass, lines deepening around his eyes. Unlike Hook, who loved flamboyant emotional displays, the more misleading and distracting the better, August Booth tried very hard to control his feelings in public—not to suppress them, but to focus them and use them to bolster the weight of his words. His voice became more urgent, his gaze more intense. It was a powerful effect, and even though Hook already had some inkling how this story ended, he made no move to interrupt. "And then I saw how she was living. The daughter of Snow White and Prince Charming, shacking up with some lowlife and stealing to survive."

He paused to gather his composure, and when he spoke again, his voice had softened. "They were incredibly happy together, of course. So in love that it made them giddy and reckless. They were broke and homeless, shoplifting and running cons just to stay afloat," he said. "It was not what her parents would have wanted for her."

"So you interfered."

August nodded. "I convinced him to go away, and Emma spent the next ten years alone, until Henry turned up on her doorstep and she moved to Storybrooke." He shrugged and offered up a small, painful smile.

"My actions led to the desired outcome. And yet…I wonder. Did I do the right thing? If I had just turned around and left that ecstatically happy couple to their own devices, maybe one day they would have decided to take a family vacation. Maybe they would have gone for a drive up the East Coast, and found themselves in a quaint little town in Maine. Maybe they would have posed for a photo in the square, under the clock tower, the two of them and their son. Maybe afterwards they would have shared a kiss, and broken the curse without even trying. The story wouldn't have been nearly as interesting, but there would have been a lot less hurt and heartbreak and collateral damage. Maybe I should have trusted in true love."

How different would the world be, if Emma had been whole and happy and _married_ from the beginning? Hook was not nearly drunk enough to contemplate the possibility. "I guess we'll never know," he said, light and deliberately dismissive, even though the words of the story still hung about them, heavy in the air. "And I believe I should thank you, since without your meddling, she might have been another man's wife." Hook grinned. "Not that that's ever stopped me before."

"I promised to let him know when the curse was broken."

"_Did you_?" With those two words, all traces of Hook's previous incarnation disappeared, and August remembered that the man across from him was three hundred years old, and very dangerous. He had seduced sirens and fought giants and outwitted not one but two sorceresses, pitting the black queen against the white while he secretly controlled both sides of the board. When he couldn't trick his opponents, he had no qualms about gutting them like fish.

August knew was out of his depth, but long habit forced him to answer honestly. "I sent him a postcard."

Hook didn't know what a postcard was, but he understood very well what August had done. "Why?"

"Because I want what's best for Emma," he said, echoing his earlier statement.

"_I'm_ what's best for Emma," Hook snarled, bright eyes darkening to pitch as he struggled to control himself. All the lazy indifference had been burned out of his body, and now every muscle was aching to leap over the table and strangle the man sitting there.

"She has the right to know," August said, maintaining his calm despite the killing intent radiating from his companion. "She has the right to choose her fate. And Henry has the right to know who his father really is."

Hook's reply was angry, wordless growl. One hand—his only hand—gripped the table hard enough to leave fingerprints imprinted in the cheap plastic.

"For what it's worth, I think she'll choose you," August said, his gaze serious, almost speculative. "That other guy's an idiot. If he really loved her, he would have moved heaven and earth to find a way to be with her. Even though he had the best of intentions, Emma will never forgive him for deciding some abstract, shadowy future was worth more than what they already had."

"I'm never going to give her up."

"I know."

"_She's mine._"

"I'm not the one you need to tell that to," August replied, although he looked glad to hear it anyway. "Just try not to sound so much like a caveman when you say it; that will probably just piss her off."


	7. The Fifth Time

**5 TIMES SOMEONE THREATENED HOOK (AND 1 TIME SOMETHING ELSE HAPPENED)**

* * *

**5 – Snow White Chimes In**

* * *

Hook had been expecting an ambush, but not one like _this_. An arrow fired from a rooftop fifty yards away, or a kamikaze attack by seven pickaxe-wielding madmen—those were scenarios he was perfectly equipped to deal with. Breakfast with Snow belonged to another category entirely.

"I'm utterly useless in the kitchen. How about I go back upstairs and you can bring me a tray in bed?" The words were out of his mouth before his sleepy mind could snatch them back and replace them with something more appropriate to the occasion.

"_Shut up_," Snow hissed. She jabbed a spatula in his direction like she expected it to shoot out of her grip and pierce him through the heart. "You're dating my firstborn." As if he needed the reminder; Emma had fallen asleep with her cheek on his shoulder, and he could still smell the perfume of her hair every time he turned his head.

Hook took a few steps to the right, shuffling until the window was at his back and he was standing in a shaft of soft, golden light. The sun's heat was a comforting weight between his shoulder blades. He smiled, trying his best to look drowsy and innocent. He didn't have to try to look seductive; that came naturally. "Force of habit," he murmured and gave an unrepentant shrug.

Snow rolled her eyes and turned away, distracted by something sizzling on the stove. "Emma will be back soon," she said, barely audible over the exhaust fan. "She ran down to the corner store to pick up some coffee."

Well, at least she hadn't abandoned him entirely, like a rodent fleeing down the mooring lines. When he awoke, a few minutes earlier, he had fully expected to find Emma pinned underneath one of his outstretched arms. Instead, there had been only wrinkled sheets and a flattened pillow, and his bare skin was cold to the touch because his bedmate had given in to a juvenile impulse and left all the blankets in a heap on the floor. (He would make her pay for that…later.)

They were supposed to spend the weekend alone. Henry was staying with his other-Mother, while Mr. and Mrs. Charming were otherwise occupied with the decorating of their new home, a monumental task that, from what he could gather, involved such things as coordinating the wallpaper in the kitchen with the rugs in the guest bathroom and consulting with an architect on the subject of a turret-inspired addition. Her mother's domestic tyranny was part of the reason Emma had been so desperate for some time away.

They couldn't run very far, for a number of reasons, but Hook was rapidly coming to think that they should have chosen a more secure locale for their tryst. This was technically Snow's apartment, as it was her name—Mary Margaret's name—on the lease, and they hadn't bothered to change the locks (how sloppy of him). She could—and at this thought his blood curdled in his veins—drop by at any time, unannounced, and let herself in using the key that she (presumably) still had in her possession. It was due only to chance that she hadn't caught them before.

"I wasn't aware you intended to come visiting today," Hook said, in the light, airy tone courtiers affected when discussing tea in the rose garden. "If you would like me to absent myself—"

"I knew you were going to be here," Snow interrupted. "Emma mentioned it the other night when I asked her about her plans for the weekend." She paused to break an egg over a glass bowl, the sound of shell cracking somehow ominous despite the bright yellow kitchen and her small, delicate hands. "I thought the three of us could have breakfast together."

"Oh," he said. He did not say _how awkward _or _how unpleasant_. But he thought it.

"Don't worry," Snow said, her voice suddenly cheerful. "I refuse to play the role of the wicked queen who drives the two lovers apart out of malice and spite. I'm not plotting your demise. Even if you were to break Emma's heart, I wouldn't kill you."

"I'm grateful," he said.

"No, I'd find a punishment far worse, something to ensure that you never again sailed the sea or sky. I'd burn your ship and break your spirit and lock you away in the cold and dark, without even rats to keep you company. If you hurt my daughter."

Hook blinked. "I think your bacon is burning."


	8. That One Time

**5 TIMES SOMEONE THREATENED HOOK (AND 1 TIME SOMETHING ELSE HAPPENED)**

* * *

**6 – That One Time **

* * *

It was never truly dark in Storybrooke. There were street lamps on every corner and glowing signs in shop windows and the fleeting, blinding headlights of passing cars. The constant illumination made it easier to dodge around cracks in the sidewalk and to avoid stepping in the soggy piles of refuse that collected in the gutters, but given the chance, Hook would have traded all the conveniences of electricity for the light of the silver moon and a clear view of the night sky. There were many things he liked about this world, but the huge, empty expanse above was not one of them. There should have been galaxies and constellations and freewheeling stars overhead, not the scattered, lonely pinpricks of light he saw when he looked up.

In this place where light bulbs could outshine the stars, he had only one landmark to navigate by. She pulled at him and he followed, like a compass needle swinging to point true north. Turning a corner, Hook lowered his gaze to the earth and found Emma.

"Good evening," he said.

She had her back to him, but he knew her by the blonde curls and the rust red leather jacket and the way she stood, arms crossed and feet planted firmly on the pavement. A brief look over the shoulder, granting him a glimpse of her cheekbones and her unimpressed smirk, was the only acknowledgement his greeting received. Undaunted, Hook stepped nearer, not stopping until the tips of his shoes brushed her heels. He raised a hand and pulled aside the curtain of her hair, baring her skin to the chilly night air and the warmth of his mouth. This close he could feel her spine stiffen, but before she could move away, he placed a kiss at the nape of her neck, and another just below her ear. He tugged loose the collar of her jacket and dropped another kiss on the spot where her shoulder rose into the elegant column of her throat. She smelled like some sweet, exotic fruit, and he wanted nothing more than to taste her, to mark her with his teeth and sooth the bites with his tongue. Emma shivered and sighed and tipped her head slightly to the right, leaning back against his chest, trusting him to support her weight.

"Well, if the two of you are looking for a room, I suppose you've come to the right place."

Hook had registered Ruby's arrival a few seconds earlier and had chosen to ignore her in favor of pursuing more interesting activities, but Emma nearly jumped out of her skin in surprise. Only his arm, encircling her waist in a tight hold, kept her from falling over.

"Hi, Ruby," Emma said, her voice a touch strained. He knew she was blushing, even though he couldn't see her face. "How long have you been standing there?"

"Long enough," the werewolf replied, flashing a grin that contained twice the normal number of canine teeth. She tipped her head to the side and considered them through amber tinted eyes. If she had a tail, it would be wagging. "Don't tell your mom I said this, but the two of you make a very…charming couple."

Hook buried his face in Emma's hair and laughed.


End file.
